


Madman on the Prowl

by oldestcharm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/pseuds/oldestcharm
Summary: Derek is up to something, Stiles is in some deep shit and Isaac has got it all figured out.





	Madman on the Prowl

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of Sterek Summer Exchange 2017 for ghostfuker69.

The first time it happens, Stiles doesn't really think much of it. It's summer, it is hot and he is in desperate need of Ben & Jerry's. He gets the cookie dough flavour and stands in line, sighing wistfully as he stares at the pint on the conveyor belt. There’s even a small layer of frost on it and Stiles is in love. Perhaps it is a testament to how distracted he is by the ice cream, because a moment later the man in front of him turns to scowl at him. Stiles really hopes his jump isn't too obvious.

"Hey, Derek." Stiles says, cringing not so internally at the way his voice sounds an octave higher than normally. It isn't as though he is too afraid of Derek these days, but he thinks he is justified in freaking out a little when he just shows out of nowhere with his perfect angry brows Stiles has to make a conscious effort not to touch. They’re magnificent, okay. He’s not weird or anything.

Derek merely stares at him for a moment, says absolutely fucking nothing and then turns to scowl even harder at the cashier who is glancing between the two of them with an unsure expression. She grows more and more suspicious as she scans Derek's items which include gaffer tape, zip ties and firecrackers. Derek doesn't say a word as he pays for his items and Stiles doesn't bother hiding his exaggerated eyeroll. What a ridiculous man.

****

Some days later Stiles is driving on a dark secluded road through the preserve, with trees lining both sides. It isn't the best route home, but at the very least there is less chance of his dad driving by and asking awkward questions he’s been known to do when Stiles stays out a little late. He wishes he had a better explanation than _sorry, dad, I’m looking for my missing classmates that I last saw locked up in our former principal’s cellar_, but he also wishes he didn’t have to lie.

The trouble comes when he passes the road a little too close to the Hale house. It all looks innocuous at first, but a suddenly there is a strange snapping sound and the next thing he knows, his Jeep jolts a little before breaking down. Stiles is just about to try and start it again when something explodes behind him, sending sparks flying in every direction. The glowing light is almost blinding and Stiles makes a rapid movement, shuts his eyes tight and grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. He shivers slightly, not daring to raise his head from where it is lowered between his arms as he attempts to get his breathing under control. There is cold sweat covering his entire body and even his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He doesn’t want to move.

He barely has time to calm down before there is a soft tap against the window and Stiles is flailing his limbs, attempting to get away from the window. "Oh my god," he yells at no one in particular or perhaps the dark shape outside. He thinks must knock himself in the face, because there’s a sharp pain somewhere near his brow. It probably doesn’t matter, except when he finally gets a chance to consider his surroundings, he realises it is Derek who is standing outside the Jeep and alright, Stiles can definitely blame him.

He clambers out of the car, irritated, but determined. "Thanks for the heart attack." He hisses, curling his hands into fists just in case he feels the overwhelming urge to shove at an alpha werewolf. “Now, what the hell’s going on?”

Derek doesn't reply. Instead he looks at him blandly for a moment or two, before drawing his brows together again. "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Stiles snaps, slamming his door shut with a loud thump and not bothering to even look around, because while Derek acts hostile so often, Stiles knows he would put his own life at risk to save him.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" Derek asks and goodness, he sounds a little petulant, like a child who has had his toys broken.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stiles asks, stepping closer as if to challenge him. It’s all just a facade, but he cannot resist. It’s like he’s drawn to obvious bullshitting with Derek. It’s his new pastime. Practice 24/7. He’ll be winning the goddamn Guinness Records in the immediate future.

“How would I know?” Derek asks, eyes flashing red for just a moment. It’s more obvious in the dark.

"Can you stop answering questions with questions?"

"Can you?"

"Fuck off, Derek." Stiles sighs and turns to inspect the damage to his Jeep instead.

“It’s not dead.” Derek offers conversationally and Stiles snaps his eyes at him.

“Okay, genius, tell me more,” Stiles huffs as his eyes land on the fishing wire and he begins dragging it towards himself, possibly to find the treasure at the end. He has to remind himself it is not a rainbow and he’d probably not be enthusiastic about it if it were.

“It was just the fireworks.” Derek shrugs, tugging the fishing wire from Stiles’ hands and finishing the task for him. He ends up with burnt out shells in his hands and shows them to Stiles, who is in no way prepared to accept this kind of bullshit.

“Did you just set my Jeep on fire?” Stiles hisses, utterly scandalised as he slides his palms across the bright blue metal. It’s important to him, ok?

“Not exactly,” Derek says and he actually sounds sort of hesitant as if he realises he might have done the poor thing some harm. Stiles doesn’t bother answering, but is sort of appreciative when Derek sighs and proceeds to check the damage himself.

****

The day when Stiles gets fed up with Deaton's cryptic answers to all the questions he still has about all the supernatural crap, he goes to Derek. He isn't exactly expecting more than what he has gathered before, but at the very least, Stiles thinks, he can coax him into being relatively nice and more importantly, not creepy.

He's walking this time, because he's still a bit upset at the fireworks scratching his Jeep and he'll be damned if he brings it anywhere near the preserve now. Derek can mock all he likes, but Stiles knows the Jeep is one of the only reasons he's still alive at this point.

It’s a nice day out and- Stiles trips over another fishing wire. Though he hasn’t been more cautious, he at least knows what to expect this time. He ducks quickly, already anticipating something horrible to happen. There is a mighty crack as two logs swing into one another just about where his head had been a moment ago and Stiles just buries his face in the damp leaves, breathing slowly. It’s nice there. No surprises besides the cold feel of mud and even that is sort of predictable. Stiles stays there for a while.

There is something poking at him. He thinks it might be a raccoon or something. "Go away." He mutters, even as he raises his chin from the ground from a moment to look and suddenly there are some really nice black lace up sneakers in his vision. _Oh_.

"Hello, Derek." Stiles mumbles, getting a wet leaf stuck in his mouth for just a brief moment, drawing himself into a sitting position and wiping the mud off his face with his sleeve. "I don't think I liked this one much."

There is a soft snort from above that almost sounds sympathetic and Stiles thinks it's the first time Derek has shown genuine amusement. It sort of suits him in the most heartbreaking manner, except Derek is a miserable bastard and his insistence of acting like it has brought Stiles’ mood down as well.

A hand shoots out to him and he eyes it skeptically before Derek growls under his breath and Stiles has no other option but to accept his hand in case he gets shown up against a tree or something. He lets himself be pulled onto his feet, a lot closer than he he expects to and he is still a little shaky. Derek is holding onto his hand, his face ever so beautiful. Stiles clears his throat awkwardly and takes a step back.

"So," he begins, attempting to sound more bold than he really is as he stares wide eyed at the whole set up. There are ropes draped around the logs and he wonders if Derek got all of that form the same supermarket. "Is this to keep _me _away or are you trying to maim someone supernatural? Because let me tell you, Derek, I don't think this would even knock me out, though it did give me a bit of a scare."

"You shouldn't be traipsing through the forest, Stiles." Derek says eventually, frowning at Stiles.

"Yeah, yeah, private property, I know," Stiles says, waving his hand as if to dispose of the claim. "But I came to see you, so just stop being so hostile for once."

"I'm not hostile." Derek grumbles and Stiles quirks a brow at him. Derek seems to realise how ridiculous that statement is, so he rolls his eyes, and folds his arms. "What do you want?"

Stiles cannot help but slide into a slow grin. "Information."

****

“Um, Stiles,” Says a voice behind him and there is a tap on his shoulder. When Stiles turns around there is Isaac staring at him, wrapped in some bizarrely fluffy scarf even as he’s buying ice coffee. His hair sticks to his forehead and Stiles cannot help but wonder why he’s doing this to himself. It must be incredibly uncomfortable.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, staring at his own coffee mournfully and wishing he didn’t have to deal with this conversation.

“You talk to Derek, right?” Isaac asks, fiddling with his shirt sleeve in the most awkward manner Stiles has ever seen. Why is he wearing long sleeves in this kind of heat?

“Sometimes.” Stiles shrugs, because he has no clue what is to come. There is a good chance he’s going to be roped into something ridiculous like telling Derek to buy more vegan meat or whatever the dude’s into... seaweed snacks, perhaps?

“But like recently?” Isaac presses, taking a step closer, right into Stiles’ personal space.

“Can’t you just smell that?” Stiles asks, tugging off the lid from his own coffee and trying to ignore the fact that the cashier is starting to look at them a bit weird. Isaac makes a strange sound, like a dying animal and gets a bit shifty-eyed.

“You aren’t-” he begins, but then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I was asking about what you’ve been doing in the forest, but I think I figured it out. Congratulations. I’m glad you’re not doing it when I’m around.”

Stiles frowns slightly. “You should take that up with Derek. I’m not doing anything.”

“Gross.” Isaac mutters and walks away. Stiles still isn’t sure he wants to know.

****

"What are you doing with that?" Stiles asks, squinting at Derek while he digs a hole in his front yard.

"Digging." Dereks says and Stiles runs a palm over his face, groaning.

"You know what I meant." He says, folding his arms and peering into it. "You're not- you're not burying another body, are you?"

Derek's shoulders tighten slightly and he doesn't look up. "No."

"Oh. Good." Stiles says, eyes landing on a pile of very sharp metal spikes. "Fuck. What are those for? Please tell me you're not setting up another trap. This is... why are you even doing this?"

Derek glances up at him for a brief moment and offers half a shrug.

"This is getting out of hand, man." Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at him. It's really sad, if he's honest. "You should get a new place. Something that's in one piece and you won't have to defend with partisan warfare."

Derek shrugs. "They work."

"On me!" Stiles hisses, taking a step closer, before reconsidering as he side eyes the spikes.

"On... others." Derek, says eventually, pausing in his digging and leaning on the shovel.

Stiles furrows his brows. "What do you mean by others? Isaac? Is that what he’s bothered about?”

Suspiciously, Derek looks a bit shifty at the mention of Isaac. He shakes his head and most definitely avoids making eye contact. Stiles wonders what his deal is.

"I'll work this out, you know. If you won't tell me." Stiles says and maybe it sounds a bit like a threat but Derek just gets even more tense.

"There's others... around." He blurts out eventually as though he doesn't quite know why he's sharing the information.

"Another pack?" Stiles asks, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. Derek follows the motion with his eyes before flicking a glance at the front door. He looks a bit relieved even, though Stiles isn’t entirely sure what’s so good about a creepy symbol on his front door. "Is this on the same level as pissing on the tires of your car or is it more like a mocking postcard?”

Derek stares at him for a moment and groans. "Actually, that’s exactly what it is.”

“Need a hand painting it over?” Stiles asks, offering a hesitant smile and hoping to derail Derek’s fascinations with pits.

“I… yeah alright.” Derek says eventually and there is a sort of hopeful look on his face. Stiles thinks it quite suits him.

****

Stiles is certain of his own death. He has let his guard down around Derek, because they’ve spent so much time together and now he is falling head first into this goddamn pit and it will bash his brains in. The end is so so near. The spikes gleam threateningly and he's going-

There is a hand around his waist, pulling him back sharply. He lands on his back, half on someone else’s body. The hands around him don't ease up even a little bit. There is hot breathing against his neck and when he finally dares to look, Derek is staring at him wide-eyed, almost concerned. Stiles' fingers are twist into his jacket and he just lets his head fall backwards onto Derek's shoulder.

"I-" Derek begins and Stiles merely shakes his head. They stay in silence for another few minutes before Derek tries again and Stiles doesn’t bother to interrupt him. "You might have had a point before."

“I always have a point.” Stiles points out, angling his body slightly so they can comfortably look at one another. He is still frowning slightly, but Derek merely hums under his breath and slides his hand against Stiles’ shoulder as if to comfort him. They’re just inches from one another, eyes dropping downwards a little and _oh_, they’re definitely having a moment now. A moment of mutual staring and closeness and Stiles thinks his heartbeat is never going to slow down.

The sound of footsteps startles both of them out of their very intense staring and suddenly Derek’s scrambling to untangle himself. What he manages to do instead, is get Stiles’ hoodie zipper stuck on his sweater and utterly lose his balance before toppling onto him in a graceful display of supernatural werewolf balance. Stiles cannot help but snicker.

“Shut up,” Derek mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t sound too upset; more as though he’s having fun.

“I was going to offer help with the place,” Isaac’s dry voice comes from somewhere above and Stiles squints up at him from where his face is buried in Derek’s neck. “But I don’t want to witness your kinky outdoors sexy times, so I think I’ll just go find that hot barista from the other day.”

Derek freezes above him and Stiles’ hand stills on his jacket. Neither of them say a word as Isaac traipses away again. Stiles is overcome by thoughts. A ridiculous amount of _holy shit _and _what the fuck_, except Derek’s lips are twitching and a moment later he buries his stupidly pretty face in Stiles’ shoulder to muffle his slightly hysterical laughter.

“You’re out of your mind, Hale.” Stiles says, before joining in and it’s nice. It’s even nicer when Derek scrapes his stubble against his cheek and presses a tiny kiss to his jaw.


End file.
